Braden woke from his exhausted slumber with a start. A feeling of foreboding clenched at his heart while cold sweat soaked his back. He struggled out of his blankets as the midmorning sun blasted through the windows past the tattered curtains.
He had slept in his clothes, all but the forceweave jacket and trousers were rumpled and stinking of blood and sweat. His gear was beside his bed and he quickly put them on. The holstered Plasma Lancet went to his hip, the collapsed spear went on the other side. After he strapped the resonating buckler on his right arm, he exited the barracks. Some of his peers were in their bunk beds but an equal number were in the infirmary nursing several gashes. Calus, his team's Warder, had a broken wrist.
The outpost had been fending off attacks from the swarmlings for the past couple of days and they were well past the breaking point. If not for Armsmaster Byrne and Leader Yoran holding the fort, they would have been overrun by now.
From the screaming, the squeals, and frankly, the blue blood mist, it looked like they were under attack again. Shaking his head, the Outpost Commander, whose name Braden didn't really care to remember, had finally decided to close the gates and engage the enemy over the walls, a near disaster in Braden's opinion. Now the walls had several holes where the swarmlings attacked and broke through, instead of them funnelling through a single area. Now they had twice as many places to guard and they were stretched thin.
Still, he needed to shore up his strength, so Braden ran towards the mess hall to receive his watered-down cup of kaf and a bowl of ration porridge spiced lightly and garnished with bits of unidentified meat. He gulped down his meal, mind racing at the need to find his twin. He could somewhat feel that Orrin was up north but that was the extent of it.
"We should have been on the same team," he grumbled to himself through a mouthful of gloop. Then he wouldn't have to worry about his brother's safety. Hopefully, he and Yuriko were safe in the forest. And hopefully, they don't attempt to come here.
Dumping his dirty dinnerware in the bussing area, he jogged to the gate where he saw a squad making short work of a small group of swarmlings. Constant battles had worn away the burrs on his martial training. He dashed up next to a militiaman and stabbed the swarmling that was about to skewer her. The critter clawed at the metal poking its throat before it keeled over and died.
Over the past couple of days, Braden felt that killing the critters had become far easier than it had been before. Sure, he still had to strike at vital points in their anatomy, but those vital points were now easier to hit with the carapace protecting them felt thinner. Their movements were much simpler too and it felt like they were just throwing themselves at the defenders in an effort to tire them out.
If that was the intention, it was working. Braden hadn't slept for more than four hours a day, and that was in fitful one-hour naps most of the time. His control over his Animus got better, at least, and he felt he could inlay the pattern for Empowered Strike just based on his current mastery.
He stepped back and stabbed another swarmling on the side of its head, where its earhole should be. The metal point had a shadowy dark glow, courtesy of his dark-coloured Animus, and just barely contained enough to make sure of the kill. The corpse only shed a couple of green lights after it fell, which swirled in the air before fading away.
He stepped back to take a breather, allowing another to take his place. He didn't fight with his team since the defence needed each individual to kill as many as possible instead of hunting targets in groups. So Braden held the line, stabbing the creatures as they came, using his Facet to pull them off-balance now and then, targetting their faces to vent all his fears and frustrations.
They fought like this for at least a couple of hours. Soon, Braden's Animus reserves were perilously low, just one more Empowered Strike away from knocking him out cold. He swapped places with Zeyn who gave him an encouraging nod.
Braden staggered off to the armoury where he picked up a vial of black liquid with green flecks shimmering inside. He drank it in one gulp and sat down in a meditative pose. Envisioning his Anima, he waited for a minute for the green flecks to appear. He guided them to his core, which would have been an orb of metallic light the size of his fist if he had been full, but was, in its current state, merely a copper penny-sized sphere.
The lights mixed into his reserve, slowly turning greyish black. However, a little bit of green seeped out of the lights and stained his core, too. After all the flecks were gone, his reserve had returned to half strength.
Braden let out a sigh and returned to the front. He continued to battle, cutting down nearly two dozen of the creatures by the time his shift ended. He staggered back to the mess hall, ate his lunch and crawled back to the barracks for a nap.
The next time he woke up, he repeated the same process except he didn't drink a dust tonic at the end of his shift. His reserves were still stained green and drinking another would not only be of no use but could possibly poison him too. Thankfully, the nap allowed him to recover enough of his Animus that he managed to fell an even dozen swarmlings before he had to retire.
Dinner was bad. Mostly because the ration bar porridge had no garnish. Still, he ate as much as he could hold before he staggered to bed.
A hand shook him awake in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes wearily, finding Maryn, a girl with long brown hair and limpid brown eyes.
"Assemble at the south gate," she said when he looked at her. She was kitted out in full gear, so he rushed to do the same thing.
The entire strength of the outpost was there. The Shillogu Woods Outpost was manned by a Company, meaning eighty personnel. About half of those were non-combatants--though they had no choice but to fight now--while the rest were divided into teams of five and squads of ten. Fourteen men and women were injured and held at the infirmary. Three militiamen had died.
Braden wondered briefly if he would be next. As each day passed, he grew wearier and more careless. He already had a couple of stitches on his side, a souvenir from a swarmling that got under his guard. Other than Gilda who'd been injured early in the siege, Zeyn, Janus, Calus, Danika, and Keir had all suffered wounds during the long battles. Most were on their feet already, gashes, scrapes, and punctures dressed and bathed in Animus for Recovery. One cannot heal away a decapitated head though or a swarmling spike to the heart, he thought morosely.
When they were formed up, Braden finally saw why they were all gathered. Even though it was night and the swarmlings should have been in torpor, a veritable army of them covered the plains outside the outpost. What was worse, there were large figures interspersed in the horde. Wanderers, Braden assumed.
Leader Yoran walked up to them. Her eyes had bags under them and her blue hair was a bit messy. "Cadets, listen up," she said quietly. "Follow me."
Puzzled, Braden and the others marched behind Leader Yoran. She led them back to the barracks and halted in front of the doors.
"Take your gear and your backpacks. Take only what you can carry easily."
"Leader, what's happening?" Braden couldn't help but ask.
She shook her head. "Armsmaster's orders. We are to flee. We'll be heading towards the Zarek Mountains. The swarmling presence is thinner there."
"But what of my brother and Team One?"
Leader Yoran hesitated. "We don't know where they are. They're probably safer in the Shillogu Woods than out here."
"Why are we just abandoning the outpost?" Zeyn asked angrily.
She shook her head. "We cannot hold any further. Now, go. Gather your things."
Braden ran into the barracks with his thoughts racing. Fatigue clung like cobwebs in his mind but one thing was clear. He would rather head to the Shillogu Woods to find Team One than run to the mountains. But he couldn't just go by himself--he'd be next to useless. Also, he saw that many of the swarmlings made for the forest, at least, half of those that made it up here.
He stuffed his clothes into the backpack, even the dirty ones. His travel rations were untouched which meant he had at least a week's worth here. He was one of the last to come out. They formed up into two rows and Leader Yoran led them to the transport.
"What about the other militiamen, Leader?" one of the girls, Ishika, asked.
"They will retreat in short order. They will buy you kids time to get to safety."
"What about you, Leader?"
"None of you can drive the transport," she answered wryly.
"Armsmaster?"
"He can take care of himself."
They piled into the transport and soon, Leader Yoran fired it up. They trundled up to the north gate. Armsmaster Byrne met them just before they exited.
"I'll clear a path for you. Head directly east," he said gruffly.
"Yes, sir." Leader Yoran saluted. "Come back safe."
"I'll do my best." Armsmaster Byrne smiled. "Let's go. Open the gate!"
On either hand, Byrne held a large melee weapon. His left held a greatsword with its blade taller than the stocky man while his right held the haft of a halberd. As soon as the gate opened his entire body was covered in the green glow of his Animus.
He lunged at the swarmlings outside. He swung the greatsword horizontally; though the critters were nowhere near him, it seemed as if the weapon extended its reach by several paces because everything in front of him was suddenly bisected. Blue blood mist spattered against the troop transporter's windshield when Leader Yoran floored the accelerator.
No matter how fast the transport moved though, Armsmaster Byrne kept ahead, cutting a bloody swath that curved from north to east. The vehicle bumped and bounced on the gravelly ground. The road was littered with bodies that popped with a sickening squelch whenever Leader Yoran ran them over.
In less than a minute, they were past the crowd of swarmlings. Braden looked out the transporter's rear entry point to watch the critters following them. He grabbed his Plasma Lancet and took a couple of potshots that splattered against the nearest swarmling. It made no real difference compared to the following horde, but it made him feel better.
Armsmaster Byrne dropped back alongside the driver's cabin. "Go! Head to safety!"
A whistling sound pierced the evening air, followed by a heavy thud. The vehicle rocked and toppled over on its side, sending Braden and the kids into a tangle of flailing limbs. The vehicle rolled over a couple of times, ending up upside down after a few seconds. Braden blacked out for a moment after someone's elbow collided with his face.
When he came to, he heard loud groaning and pained whimpers. He managed to crawl out of the tangle and exit the transport.
"Anyone hurt badly?" he asked.
A chorus of nos answered him. One said "I think I broke something. No, no, it was just Zeyn's fat bottom squeezing all the blood out."
Braden didn't pay much attention though. A short distance away, he could see that Armsmaster Byrne was fighting for his life and probably the rest of theirs too.
A slender man with dusky skin, golden eyes, and a couple of horns on his forehead was exchanging blows with the stocky muscleman. Byrne had dropped his greatsword and was twirling the halberd to fend off lightning-quick stabs from the horned man's rapier.
Byrne barely had the leeway to strike back, spending most of his time parrying. Leader Yoran stumbled towards them, a line of red dripping from her scalp down her cheeks. She hissed when she saw the horned man, glimmers of light gathered on her palms but she ultimately shook her head.
Swarmlings were slowly closing in on them. If they wanted to escape, there was only one direction they could go. Leader Yoran took a quick stock of their condition.
"Everyone can move?"
"Yes."
"Run!"
She pointed at the woods up north while her form was slowly shrouded in shadow. Braden didn't hesitate. He and the other cadets ran, while behind them, Animus and Chaos clashed.